Child of Mandalore
by Mama Vader
Summary: A boy, orphaned by war, finds hope with an unlikely new family.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own these characters. I'm merely playing in a galaxy far, far away.**

**Child of Mandalore**

_"In five millennia, the Mandalorians fought with and against a thousand armies on a thousand worlds. They learned to speak as many languages and absorbed weapons technologies and tactics from every wary. And yet, despite the overwhelming influence of alien cultures, and the absence of a true home world and even species, their own language not only survived but changed little; their way of life and their philosophy remained untouched; and their ideals and sense of family, of identity, of nation, were only strengthened. Armor is not what makes a Mandalorian. Armor is simply a manifestation of an impenetrable, unassailable heart." Star Wars Insider #86_

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The boy was only seven years old when his old life was swept away in a hail of blasterfire and new one was put before him in the form of an outstretched, armored hand. Instead of reaching for the hand, the boy struck out at it with the vibroblade he had held in his small, bloodstained fingers. The blood belonged to his mother, the blade he had taken from his father's dead hand.

The warrior standing over him did not flinch back when the boy struck out at him, but knelt in the bloody mud and removed the helmet covering his face. Surprisingly kind blue eyes and a shock of red hair were hidden beneath the fearsome helmet. A smile made the blue eyes crinkle and the boy was reminded of his father. The warrior beckoned the boy closer, murmuring something in a language the child did not understand.

Giving a stubborn shake of his head, the boy scowled at the man with a fierce glare. This seemed to please the man, whose grin widened. The man sat back on his heels and gave the boy a moment to consider his situation. The two stared at each other in silence, neither moving a muscle. From a distance, the child could hear the screams of the dying and the wounded. He remembered his mother whispering his name just before she let go of life.

"Pendar…" her voice had been weak, seeming to leak out of her just like the blood forming an ever-widening pool beneath her. She had the strength to say no more and a moment later, she was gone. He was alone then, for his father had died early in the attack.

War had found their little village and the arrogance of their leaders had brought death into their midst. The life he had once known was gone forever, and as young as he was, he knew it. Never again would his mother sing to him as he fell asleep, nor would his father teach him the ways of their people. His father had been a proud man, never forgetting the heritage of his warrior ancestors. He had passed that along to his son, and it was an inbred fortitude that made the little boy stand up straight now, his eyes locked with the warrior who could so easily kill him. Pendar Epoc would not back down; it was not in him to do so.

Remembering his father's tutelage made his grief sharp and Pendar threw himself at the warrior with a cry of fury, striking out at the man blindly. The man stopped him with insulting ease, immobilizing him by wrapping his massive arms around the struggling little body. Soon, Pendar's screams of rage turned into sobs of loss and sorrow and still the warrior held the boy. The man gave no sign that either reaction troubled him, but merely let the boy ride out the storm of his emotions. When his tears had been spent and Pendar leaned against the warrior exhaustedly, one big hand came to rest on top of the boy's dark head. "Shhh…"

Pendar relaxed completely, his mind recognizing the sound of comfort from an adult voice. He was so very tired. The boy collapsed against the warrior and the man stood up and carried the boy away from the hut, away from death.

When Pendar woke up, he sensed movement beneath him, as if the floor was shaking in the grip of some terrible quake. He gasped and sat up, wondering why his mother had not woken him to urge him to safety. The sight that greeted him was unexpected.

Smooth, pale walls rose up around him and he realized that he was cold. He shivered and pulled the blanket up more closely about him, suddenly taking note of its alien texture. This was not a blanket his mother had woven, for it was not as bright as the colors of the flowers in his mother's garden, or as soft as the wool she transformed into small comforts for her family. This blanket was somewhat coarse and a uniformly gray color. Pendar thrust the blanket away from him despite his chill.

A chuckle from the far end of the room drew his eyes. "Such a fierce little cub," said a deep voice. As the figure walked out of the shadows, Pendar could see that it was the red-haired man. Immediately, the boy began scrabbling to find his blade, eliciting a bark of indulgent laughter from the man. "Rest easy boy, I mean you no harm."

Pendar hesitated, staring up at the man with wary eyes. Indeed, there was nothing threatening in the man's expression, only approval. Pendar wondered at that, for it seemed out of place for his situation. "You speak my tongue," Pendar snapped.

"I speak many languages," the man replied easily. Once more, the man knelt down so that they were eye-to-eye. "I won't hurt you," he reassured the boy once more. "Why would I save you only to kill you now?" He tilted his head and gave the boy a friendly smile.

With a shrug, Pendar answered quietly. "How do I know what an idiot like you is thinking?" One hand continued to search the folds of the blanket for the blade.

The warrior gave a small shake of his head. "You have much spirit, young one, and this pleases me," he replied. Then he held up the blade with a slight smile. "But I'm afraid you can't have this back, not just yet anyway."

Pendar frowned at him and considered trying to snatch it from the red-haired man's hand. The warrior merely shook his head. "I wouldn't try it, cub."

The two were silent, each caught up in their own musings. Finally, the warrior reached out and brushed back Pendar's dark hair with a gentle hand. "We have a saying among our people, little cub. Aliit ori'shya tal'din," he said quietly.

Reluctantly, the boy muttered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The warrior reached for the boy's hand and grasped it in his own. "Family is more than bloodlines." 

_**Author's Note: This story is completely written and posted on another website under a different pen name. It's still me, and you may feel free to PM that name and make sure that I'm not stealing anything that doesn't belong to me. So...if you've seen this before, that's the way and wherefore and all that jazz.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own these characters. I'm merely playing in a galaxy far, far away.**

**Chapter 2**

The two of them stared at each other, the boy trying to absorb the man's words, and the man trying to let the child see that he intended him no harm. Naturally, the boy was distressed; he had lost everything and everyone he had ever known and loved. The sleep that had claimed the child had been deep, and the warrior hoped it had been enough to start the boy on the path to healing. He would always remember his lost family, but in time, the thought would not pain him. Loss was a part of life, and though young, the boy was not too young to accept this hard truth. There was a deep core of strength in the child before him, the warrior sensed that clearly, and it pleased him.

The red-haired man shook the child's hand firmly. "My name is Ghee Rendanali," he said. He continued to hold the small, dirty hand in his and gave the child a look that said he was waiting for an introduction.

Pendar studied the warrior for a moment, obviously wary but content to let his hand rest in the man's grasp. Finally, he gave a stiff nod. "I'm Pendar Epoc," he said quietly.

"I'm honored to meet you, Pendar Epoc," Ghee replied with a slight smile as he released the boy's hand. He noticed with amusement that the boy wiped his hand on the blanket. Spirited indeed, he mused, and not easy to frighten.

"Were you the one who killed my parents?" Pendar asked suddenly, his eyes daring the warrior to lie to him. Ghee had a feeling this one would know if he lied. Pendar was strong-willed and intelligent, and suddenly the man could not wait to see Kyri's face when she saw the child.

"No," Ghee answered. "But one of my men was," he continued, driven to brutal honesty by his own nature. Ghee would not dishonor this fragile beginning by lying to the boy, and it would be wise to see if the child had the strength he would need in the months ahead. Many changes were coming for the boy, and he would need to face them head on, without flinching away from harsh reality.

They two were silent for a moment, the boy absorbing this truth and the man giving him the time to do so. Then the child's dark eyes came up to meet the man's gaze, and the warrior was pleased to note that his eyes were dry, his expression fierce but no tears. "You came to our planet because of King Nehwo, didn't you?" the boy asked. "What he did to the Ziira, right?"

The warrior nodded. "Your king attacked a peaceful planet and slaughtered many," Ghee replied. "But the Ziira were not without financial resources. So they hired us."

"Who's us?" Pendar asked, further surprising the man with his curiosity and indications of adaptability. All of these were good signs that the boy would adjust to life among the Mandalore. He had chosen well, recognizing the boy's spirit. It had been right to give him a chance at the glorious life of the Mandalore rather than spending his youth on the harsh soil of his homeworld. Pendar Epoc was meant for greater things, that much was obvious.

"We are the Mandalore," Ghee answered. "We are a warrior people."

Pendar tilted his head. "My father spoke of the Mandalore once," he said. "He came from a warlike people, too." The boy smirked. "He said the Mandalore were nothing compared to the Tuugaats."

The warrior grinned at the boy. "I see you have your share of pride, cub." He nodded. "That is good, a man should be proud of who he is and what he has accomplished."

"My father told me _we_ were descended from noble warriors," the boy explained. "And my father never forgot that." Pendar shot a sly glance at Ghee. "He said the Mandalores weren't much more than glorified bounty hunters."

To the boy's surprise, Ghee did not take offense but burst out into laughter and shook his head. "Leave it to a Tuugaatian mud crawler to come to that conclusion," he said without rancor.

His temper suddenly pricked, Pendar hopped to his feet, his little fists clenched at his sides. "Take it back!" he cried. "Take back what you said about my father!" The boy launched himself at Ghee, his fists flailing, but the warrior caught him easily and held him at arm's length. Pendar was breathing hard, his fury written clearly on every line in his face. His dark eyes were narrowed, hard – much older than his years. War not only made orphans, it made men out of children, Ghee mused.

"Easy, boy," Ghee said quietly. "It is good to honor your father's memory," he continued. "We honor our ancestors, as well. But your father would not want you to get hurt over a few harmless words." Ghee smiled slightly. "The Tuugaats are proud to be called mud crawlers, boy. Your father would agree." The warrior patted the boy's shoulder. "He would have clapped me on the back as hard as he could and told me that it was better to be a mud crawler than a Mando, and we would have had a friendly argument about the matter." Ghee brushed back the hair from the boy's sweaty brow. "And I would have bought him a drink and we would have forgotten the matter." He shrugged. "It is the way of fighting men."

His nostrils still flared, the boy calmed. His outburst seemed to have exhausted him. He slumped gracelessly back to the floor and looked up at his captor. "Where are we going?" Pendar had been wondering where the warrior was taking him ever since he woke up.

"We are going to my people," Ghee explained. "We have been gone a long time and all of us want to go home and see our families."

"Where is home?" the boy asked. It did not really matter where they took him; everyone he had loved was gone now, dead. He no longer had a home or a family.

"Home is where our armor is," Ghee replied quietly, shrewdly guessing at the direction of the boy's thoughts.

"That's stupid," Pendar replied listlessly. "You can't live in your armor," he noted.

"A Mandalorian can," Ghee assured him with a confident grin.

The boy snorted but did not answer. Then his dark eyes focused on the warrior. "So why did you take me from my village?"

Ghee sighed quietly. "You were the only one left alive," he explained. "Perhaps others escaped early on, but…"

Pendar nodded. "Most of the families with children left yesterday," he said quietly in a tight voice. "They escaped into the far hills. But my father said no one was going to run him off his farm." His eyes filled with tears that he would not let fall. Angrily, the child wiped them away and scowled. "My parents argued…"

"Your father would defend his home," Ghee murmured. "I can understand that, for I would feel the same."

"A lot of good it did him," Pendar said bitterly.

Ghee raised the boy's chin and frowned slightly. "Do not dishonor your father's sacrifice. He made a noble choice and he died a warrior's death," the man said softly. Pendar blinked but his gaze did not break away from Ghee's blue eyes. Then the boy nodded stiffly, and Ghee smiled approvingly. "Good," he whispered. "You are stubborn, not stupid."

With a flash of his dark eyes, Pendar noted dryly, "Too bad I can't say the same thing about you."

A bark of laughter escaped the man. "Ah, cub… How my Kyri will love you, for she would agree with you much of the time!" 


End file.
